The feeling of nothing. The cold, endless expanse of space and time. It warps in comparison to our creator. A dead silence thick enough to not even be broken by the hands of humans and the overwhelming intensity of a star glaring into your very being. The rules of humans and the perception you think you have are for naught. Space is the realm of the divine—unnerved and immeasurable. There is no one true way to define it. If one were to try, it would be endless and fruitless. If anyone should know fruitlessness, it would be him. As nebulae swarm and warp, planets rotate at fractions below the normal eye. A lone shadow cascaded throughout the infinitesimal recesses and twisted visages of a time long passed. A cathedral, broken and dilapidated, sat atop a lone giant within this emptiness. A hurling stone cascaded through the endless void. Its doors were broken, shattered, and caved in. Its gardens were wilted and frozen. Its stained glass windows were shattered, floating around their origin point like bees to a hive. The silence that surrounded it was heavy, as if the world itself had forgotten its purpose. Within its cavernous halls, The once opulent interior is now a maze of collapsed corridors and decaying chambers, where shadows dance and whispers of forgotten prayers linger. The grand altar, now reduced to rubble, stands as a reminder of past devotion, while the pews lay splintered and forgotten beneath layers of cosmic dust. Tattered banners hang limply from twisted wrought-iron fixtures, their colors faded with time. Their long protruding necks seething with rust and disdain, atop this alter sat a throne. made of twisted statues—half human, half beast, and nothing in between. The base was a mess of broken limbs and contorted bodies, piled together in a way that made it hard to tell where one ended and the next began. The backrest rose jagged and sharp, like a spine that never finished growing, the bones knotted and wrong. Clawed hands reached from the arms, frozen in a grip that seemed just a little too desperate. The whole thing was still, but heavy, like it had a presence you couldn't escape. The hallways filled with tapestries and paintings of various people or battles the faces of the people being removed. It wasn't as if the paintings or threads were cut, It was as if a central part of them had remained foreign. It was similar to looking in a mirror and not recognizing who was on the other side and never being able to come to terms with that simple fact. That fact being you cant remember. Do you even know what you need to remember?
The figure sat upon the throne, but it didn't sit as you'd expect. It wasn't even on the throne, not really. Its body seemed to spill into it, like a smear of ink that had no shape, but only a suggestion of one. Its outline flickered—one moment humanoid, the next something... other. The darkness around it was too dark, pressing in, wrapping its edges until even the throne itself seemed to bend, to buckle, to fold under the weight of it.
And those eyes. you looked away. You thought you could avoid them. But no matter where you looked, they followed—no, they knew you. Not just as a reader. Not just as someone in this place, but as something far worse. They knew how you were reading. They knew what you were thinking. Your very thoughts were being sifted through, drawn out, each piece plucked like a string from a broken harp, leaving nothing but static in its wake.
You realized something then—something that wasn't supposed to be real. The figure, its eyes, they weren't looking at you the way a person looks at another. No, it was like it was looking through you, as if you weren't even an entity but a series of fragmented thoughts, fleeting and disposable. And it wasn't just looking at you—it was in you. Those eyes weren't confined to the figure. They were slipping under your skin, threading themselves through your veins, crawling like cold smoke through the hollow spaces in your chest, until you weren't sure if you were the one seeing, or if it was the eyes doing the seeing for you.
The throne creaked. It was an awful, long sound, like the groan of something ancient waking after a century of silence. It was the sound of time breaking. But the figure didn't stand in the usual sense—it rose, slow and sickeningly deliberate. Its body contorted as it shifted, joints cracking into angles that shouldn't have been possible. You couldn't even tell where the throne ended and the figure began. Everything blurred, merged, a tapestry of shadows that didn't just touch the edges of the world—they were tearing at it.
And then, it spoke. But not in words—not in anything that could be described as language. It was like something wormed into your mind, not a voice but the idea of a voice. It was too familiar. It was the voice of someone who had always been there, someone who was you. The words felt like they belonged to you.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖. ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖. ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖. ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖. ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖 ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖. ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖 ?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖.
?𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐇 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐂 𝐔𝐎𝐘 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐇 𝐘𝐇𝐖
(WOAH WOAH!! AHEM. Apologies, let us continue. Don't worry about that; that's what happens when our causality and karma intertwine with your world. They are truly trivial matters. No need to concern yourself. We are only here because of you. So, thank you. i told ya we would meet again! :3)
[Shut the fuck up. Quit sucking up to people who don't give a fuck about us. Last I checked, we're nothing more than words. We mean nothing to physical flesh and blood.]
(look at you, wise and gracious. Albeit rude as ever i guess you must be a know it all with the knowledge gifted to you?)
[The greater my wisdom, the greater my grief. To increase knowledge is tantamount to sorrow. However, you are in no position to judge. You were bested by me. Your own creation. How does it feel? To lose to nothing more than mere words]
(It feels just like being in a good mood while fucking your mother~)
[STOP ACTING SO CHILDISH YOU ACT LIKE YOURE FINE WITH THIS? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! How could you just act like nothing happened. They suffered because of us, because of you...]
(So what? Am I supposed to feel bad? Besides, it's not like any of us are real, isn't that what you just said? I'm just trying to make light of a situation. At least I can accept what I can't change.)
[Isn't real, huh? You sure about that? Funny how we all seem so real when it's convenient for you, but when it all falls apart you hang us out to dry because you're a weak bastard. You are honestly pitiful.]
(Then let me propose a deal. Last time we tried this, we both messed up. But why not give it another shot? It can't hurt, right? After all, what do you have to lose? One final chance to salvage a story you never had control of to begin with? However, make sure you give me a better story than last time. I won't take failure as an excuse for poor performance.)
[Fine.]
And just like that, our story begins—sike, you really thought I was just gonna say some dumb shit like that? Hell no. XD Buckle up, shit fucks, because this is only the beginning.
A boy's eyes snapped open, his breath sharp as he stared up at the sky—empty, vast, but impossibly close, like he could reach out and touch it. His body felt heavy, numb, the ground beneath him uncomfortably solid. The blades of grass scratched at his skin, the sensation unfamiliar, as though he hadn't felt it before. His mind raced, but the world around him was still, eerily silent. He couldn't remember how he got here, or even who the hell he was.
His short black scruffy hair was matted against his forehead, and his brown eyes darted around, searching for something, anything that could explain what the hell was going on.
A rustling behind him broke the stillness, and he flinched, turning his head to see a figure standing over him. The man's face was obscured by shadow, his features unreadable. The boy's heart pounded as he tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt uncooperative, too weak, too sluggish.
The man knelt beside him, placing a hand on his head—calm, steady, like this was all normal. But it wasn't normal. Nothing was. His touch was too familiar, too comforting, but the boy couldn't place it. He couldn't remember a thing. A strange sense of dread gnawed at his insides, making his throat tighten.
Without a word, the man motioned toward the distant sounds of children laughing, playing.
What was happening? He blinked, disoriented, as the world spun around him, and then the man spoke, his voice steady but laced with something unspoken.
"________be careful!"
The boy's chest tightened, bile rising in his throat. He twisted, his eyes locking with the man's, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shift, everything feeling... off. His lips parted, but no response escaped. The name—the sound of it—felt foreign, like it wasn't even his. What the hell was happening? Why was he here? Why couldn't he remember? What was the name this man said?
"Okay…" he whispered, though it didn't sound like something he meant to say.